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Voldemort would never leave his survival contingent on chance. He had multiple plans for his resurrection, had stashed the tools and knowledge in even the unlikeliest of places. And now, after crowning Harry Potter a triwizard champion and whisking him away, now he would squash two doxies in a single strike.
Before his discorporation at the hands of a mere babe, Voldemort had prepared a potion keyed to his blood - a potion to adopt an heir, to ensure they gained the unique physiology of parselmouths, the precious family magic contained within a Slytherin's blood. He had planned to adopt an heir, to mould them into the perfect vessel and then rend their soul from flesh and claim their body for his own.
This would not be necessary now, not the claiming of the body nor the destruction of his heir's soul. What he would claim, was the blood and magic of the child of prophecy, adopting him as Voldemort's. Harry was a little older than the optimal age for blood adoption, but since he already had the physicalities of a parselmouth and hadn't reached his magical majority yet, the potion would take.
Pettigrew somehow managed to force the foul brew down Harry's gullet without spilling a single drop. Marvellous. It would take a few days of bedrest for the boy to shift into his new form, gaining an appearance closer to that of Tom Riddle than his current resemblance to his parents. For now, Voldemort waited for his magical signature to shift, signalling that Lord Voldemort had been added to the boy's very blood.
The ritual went without a hitch after that. Bone of the father, flesh of the servant, blood of the son. Add to that the sacrifice of virtue, of his precious Harry having survived three herculean tasks and reigned victorious, thus fuelling the power of three in yet another layer of the resurrection ritual. For Harry had Virtue, Voldemort Sin and Wormtail, for all his cowardice and selfishness, was plagued with Guilt so strong that he could not look the boy in the eyes.
Voldemort rose out of the cauldron, taller, lither, more powerful than ever before; deathly pale and dotted with glittering scales, with long black claws on each bony finger. He felt his serpentine face, rubbed two fingers around his forked tongue, revelled in the look of horror on his new son's face.
Oh, how wonderfully expressive Harry was! As Voldemort stepped out of the couldron, naked as a babe, the boy retched. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped when Voldemort tapped into the innate abilities of his new form, as the Dark Lord shifted his lower body into a long, black serpent's tail.
He slithered experimentally. Raised his hand and twitched a single finger toward his father's grave. Upon his silent, wandless command, the angel statue holding his son rose from it's pedestal and carried the horrorstruck child closer. Wormtail cowered. Harry struggled in the statue's unyielding arms. Voldemort raised his arms and let his magic fill the graveyard with wave after wave of his dark, oppressive magic.
It was the perfect resurrection. With Harry's help, his son and heir by blood and magic, Lord Voldemort managed what none have dared attempt. He rose from a state as close to death as an immortal God could ever experience. He defeated a prophecy by rendering his son and heir unable to harm him; for the most ancient and most noble blood of Slytherin could never act against the family's reigning lord.
And last, but not least, by using the blood of a parselmouth after first strengthening it through blood adoption, Lord Voldemort had managed to coax out and awaken the ancient naga heritage that gave Slytherin's heirs the ability to command serpents and weild but a fraction of a naga's parselmagic. Now, the lost race of those Gods of Magic was resurrected along with the darkest Dark Lord - for Lord Voldemort had rebuilt himself in the form of a naga and now controlled in full the vast powers he was always destined to have.
The angel statue placed Harry, still trashing, into his Lord's arms. Voldemort easily balled the boy up into a fetal position, held him snug against his chest and let his bottom rest on Voldemort's powerful coils. He held the screaming child until it tired itself to near silence.
Somewhere behind him, Wormtail succumbed to blood loss, sealing the final stage of the ritual. Magic rose all around them, streaming from the earth in thick clouds of necromantic energy before condencing around Voldemort as his son, seeping into their skin.
Harry shivered. Choked out a feeble sob as a single tear ran down his cheek. Voldemort licked the salty drop from the boy's skin, purring in satisfaction.
"Fret not, my child, my sweet Harry, for Lord Voldemort has given back what he once took from you. Tonight, you have a father who shares your blood, a protection through the ritual we just completed together and a bright new future at my side as my son and heir, the Dark Lord's very pride and joy. I shall nurture your talent and fulfill your needs. I shall raise you as you always should have been raised - as a wizard of an ancient and powerful heritage who was born to rule the cowering masses. We will rule together, Harry."
Voldemort held his boy closer, ignoring the sobs that wracked his fey-like frame, rocked side to side and whispered sweet promises to his little treasure until his son succumbed to exhaustion and grew slack in his father's arms.
Voldemort summoned his wand from Wormtail's corpse with the flick of a finger. With another flick, he collected his son's wand as well. A parseltongue command lured his precious Nagini from her hiding place. Master and familiar both rejoiced at their reunion. The night was charged with the residue of his success.
Voldemort felt his heart fill up with warmth at feeling his dear Nagini wrapped around his shoulders again, at carrying the slumped weight of his new son in his arms and having the steady, comforting thrum of his magic, now more potent than ever before, pulsing beneath his magic-resistant skin.
This was exctacy. This was Lord Voldemort's reward for all he had suffered as a bodiless, powerless wraith.
Grinning inhumanly wide, the Dark Lord apparated without needing to move his body. The will of his magic was more than enough. He would grace the Malfoys with their Lord's presence. He'd make Narcissa heal the boy. He'd send Lucius to complete and seal the boy's adoption so no one could ever take him from Voldemort. He'd send word to Draco to acquire the boy's belongings at Hogwarts.
Harry would never leave his side again. The Death Eaters would learn to submit to Harry, learn to fear Harry. And Harry would learn to respect and adore his father, his Lord. He'd learn the Dark Arts, he'd learn all that Voldemort knew; parselmagic, necromancy, magic from all over the world, both human and creature...
Yes. So it shall be, by blood and magic, by the will of Fate as well as the Wizarding World's new immortal and all-powerful God, Lord Voldemort. The child of prophecy has been hallowed as the son of God - The Dark Lord's fated heir with which to establish the divine imperial House of Slytherin.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Harry came to on a soft bed of sunwarmed silk, weighed down by heavy coils. He felt well rested, floating in the pleasant sensations that warmed and held him. He couldn't remember ever feeling so safe, so weightless before.
He had everything he needed right here. Everything he'd ever want was well within his reach. His body was whole and painless - all ailments stripped away to leave but health and contentment behind.
He knew, somewhere in the back of his head that he should open his eyes, that he should be alert, that this ease and warmth were unknown to him and therefore dangerous. For once, Harry turned away from his instincts. He buried deeper into silk and scales, breathed in the scent of home, of kin, of safety, and let heady satisfaction bloom behind his ribs, spread through him and drown out the irritating warning bells in the back of his subconscious.
He was Harry now, just Harry. The boy who napped in sunlight and luxuriated under heavy, protective muscles. The boy who floated freely in his own skin, cradled in magic that flowed into his lungs and lovingly caressed his insides.
Just Harry.